"He's all right," exclaimed Sim Relander feelingly, as if that
laconic reply had been the only thing necessary to establish the
young man's social standing.

"That feller's been out here only four months, an' I'll bet they
ain't any ten men in the Philippines what's had as many clost calls
as he's had," said Johnny Rogers. "I was thinkin' about it to-day.
He's had more narrow escapes in tight places than---"

"Well, the darned fool rushes right into 'em, don't he? He ain't
got no sense. Nobody ought to git out where he can be shot at when
there ain't no need. Take that blamed fool trick o' his'n there
at Tarlac. When he went back all alone after the papers that Cap
Groce dropped. I'll bet he was shot at two hundred times."

"Well, he didn't get hit, did he? If he gets hit good 'n' proper
once he won't be so keen about showin' off," growled one of the
men.

"Depends on where he's hit. Then, there was that time when he dumb
the hill back yonder and turned the fire o' the gugus so's we could
get up into the pass. He makes me think o' Lawton. There's the boy
for me. If we had a few more generals like Lawton we'd put a crimp
in these niggers so quick it would look like a spasm." Having
delivered himself of this safe prophecy, Mr. Rogers glared about
him for opposition. None forthcoming, he proceeded, with a satisfied
snort, to refill his pipe.

"Lawton's makin' history, and don't you forget it," observed Luke